I bought some time by slugging down another few swallows of delicious ice-cold beverage. “You and Isabeau are different people with different personalities,” I said when I came up for air. I was channeling Aunt Yolanda. She’s way smarter about stuff like this than I am. “Comparing yourself to her is like comparing apples and oranges. They’re both great, they’re just different.”
She gave me an annoyed look. “People don’t like me. I know that.”
“That’s not true,” I told her. “We all like you. A lot.”
Edie put the new tissue to work and hiccupped again. “How can you say that? You saw the way they acted during the staff meeting. They’ll be glad when I’m off on maternity leave.”
“Only because it means the pregnancy will be over. For you. Not for us. We’ll be glad for you. And excited to meet the baby.”
There. That was mainly true. We would all be glad for Edie, and excited to meet the baby . . . and we’d also be pretty glad for ourselves that Edie’s emotional roller coaster of a pregnancy would be over.
Edie still looked doubtful, but just then the phone rang. We both looked at it. Answering incoming calls was Edie’s job, but she was in no condition to talk to clients, so I answered it myself with a chipper, “Zydeco Cakes. This is Rita. How may I help you?”
“Rita Lucero?” It was a woman’s voice, one I didn’t recognize.
“Yes.”
“Simone O’Neil here. I’m with the Crescent City Vintage Clothing Society. I left a message for you yesterday, but I thought I’d follow up and call you again. I hope I’m not being too pushy.”
“Not at all,” I assured her. “I was about to call you myself. I’m hoping to meet with you to discuss the decorations and theme for the Belle Lune Ball.”
Edie pulled herself together, tossed her tissues, and waved as she left the room. I wouldn’t say she looked happy, but at least she wasn’t crying any longer. That would have to do for now. I hadn’t given up hope that I could convince her to apologize, but that would have to wait. I hoped not too long, though.
While Simone O’Neil checked her calendar, I covered the receiver and called, “Edie? Are you busy for lunch?”
She reappeared in the doorway and shook her head. “Not really. Why?”
“Do you want to grab a bite with me?”
“You don’t have to do that,” she said with a frown. “I’ll be fine.”
“It’s not a pity invitation,” I said. “So don’t get the wrong idea. Say twelve thirty?”
She nodded uncertainly. “Sure. Okay. I guess.”
Her response was underwhelming, but I was determined to get the staff back to normal. I flashed a BFF-worthy smile and Edie disappeared again. A moment later, Simone came back on the line. We agreed to meet the following afternoon at her office, and I hung up feeling pretty good about my day so far. I don’t get that feeling very often, so I enjoyed it while I could.
Sixteen
Edie and I spent our lunch break talking about the baby and Edie’s plans for decorating the baby’s nursery. She’d even offered me the chance to change my mind about being the baby’s godmother. Since she’d more or less tricked me into saying yes, I could have backed out with a clear conscience, but I didn’t. The idea of taking on a lifetime of responsibility made me a little dizzy, but I kept hearing Aunt Yolanda telling the teenage me that sometimes things weren’t all about me, and I knew this was one of those times.
I still thought Edie could have made a better choice, but she’d been caught off guard by the pregnancy and she was scared to death by the looming reality of becoming someone’s mother. I guess we’d just have to muddle through together.
She didn’t bring up the argument she’d had with River after our trip to the hospital, and I didn’t ask. I didn’t want her to think I’d invited her to lunch to lecture her about her choices. She got far too much of that as it was.
On the way back to work, I paused in front of a gift shop to admire a Halloween tea setting in a store window. A delicate black lacquer teapot had been paired with black-and-white plates and crisp white napkins tied with orange satin ribbon. I’m not a tea drinker, but the setting appealed to me.
“You didn’t have to do this, you know.”
I glanced away from the window. I must have looked confused because Edie said, “I mean, I enjoyed having lunch together but, well, you didn’t have to.”
“I didn’t do it because I had to,” I assured her. “I asked you to have lunch with me because I get tired of eating alone.”
“You asked me because I had a meltdown at work,” Edie said, but she was smiling—and she was right—so I didn’t argue.
I craned to see the price tag on the teapot and made a mental note to come back and look at it more closely when I had some free time. “I have an appointment with a woman named Simone O’Neil tomorrow afternoon,” I said when we started walking again. “She’s in charge of the decorations for the Belle Lune Ball. Have you ever heard of her?”
Edie nodded. “I’ve seen her name around, usually connected with charity work, but I’ve never met her.”
“What about Evangeline Delahunt? Why does everybody freak out when they hear her name?”
“You met her,” Edie said. “What do you think?”
“I thought she was thoroughly unpleasant. Is she always like that?”
Edie hitched her purse higher on her shoulder. “She and I don’t exactly hang out,” she said, “but I hear she’s a real pain in the neck.”
“Who do you hear that from?” I was pretty sure I knew the answer, but I asked anyway in case she’d picked up talk from someone other than Ox.
“Ox knows her,” Edie said. “Philippe knew her.”
Back in pastry school, Edie had nursed a crush on Philippe. He’d never returned her interest, but it always stung a little when I realized she knew something about him that I didn’t. This one was the emotional equivalent of a mosquito bite, so I brushed it off. “Is it true that Philippe refused to work with her?”
Edie nodded. “Yeah. Miss Frankie sure tried to get him to do it, though.”
“That’s the part that confuses me. Why was it so important to her?”
“I don’t know. People don’t confide in me, you know. I meant what I said earlier. I don’t really have any friends around here.”
That wasn’t exactly true; when she wasn’t pregnant and emotional, people confided in Edie all the time. She was a font of information, and not just because she ran the front of the house at Zydeco. She was also adept at accidentally overhearing other people’s conversations. Commending her on that talent didn’t seem like the most effective way to make her feel appreciated, though, so I swallowed that comment as well.
I didn’t say anything until we’d put another block behind us. That’s how long it took for me to grow uncomfortable with the silence. “How are things with River?”
Edie turned her face toward a storefront window filled with silk leaves in fall colors. “Don’t start, okay?”
“I’m asking about your life,” I said. “I’m interested in knowing what’s going on. Isn’t that what friends do?”
She stopped walking and shrugged. “Yeah. I guess so.”
“So? How are things with River?”
“They’re not.”
I didn’t want to throw Isabeau under the bus by admitting that she’d told me about their argument, so I pretended ignorance. “Why? Did he leave again?”
“No. But he will. You know he will.”
“No, I don’t. And neither do you.”
“He was raised by hippies,” she argued. “In a commune. He’s not even sure who his own father is. He’s spent his entire adult life traveling all over the globe doing God knows what. How can I trust a man like that?”
I shrugged. “I don’t know. I thought I could trust Philippe, b
ut it turned out I couldn’t. Sometimes you get hurt. Sometimes you don’t. But the fact is, River is the baby’s father. Doesn’t he deserve a chance? If not with you, at least with the baby?”
“I’ve given him a chance,” she said. “He blew it.”
“Oh, come on! He arrived a few minutes late to your pretend labor. That’s hardly a hanging offense.”
Edie’s good mood evaporated. “So you expect me to let him be part of our lives forever just because I made one stupid mistake?”
Ouch! I hoped she wouldn’t say things like that in front of the baby. If you asked me, letting your kid know it was a “stupid mistake” could easily fall into the “Scar Your Kid for Life” category.
“I don’t know,” I said cautiously. “Maybe sleeping with River was a mistake. Maybe it wasn’t. You won’t know for sure unless you stop looking for reasons to push him away and see how it plays out.”
She huffed impatiently, a sure clue that she didn’t appreciate my opinion.
“Look, Edie, I can’t tell you what to do and I’m really not trying to. But you’re the one who decided to sleep with him. You’re the one who picked him to be the baby’s daddy, even if you didn’t really mean to. The baby had no choice in the matter, but your choice is going to affect him or her forever. Just because you don’t want River around doesn’t mean the baby won’t. That’s all I’m saying.”
She glared at me.
I glared right back. “Hey, you asked me to be the baby’s godmother. I’m just doing my job.”
“Your job is to be there for the baby, not to start dictating to me.”
“Who’s dictating? I’m just offering a suggestion.”
“Well, don’t!”
I might have come up with a great reply to that, and I might not have. Before I could, my cell phone chimed Uncle Nestor’s ring tone and Edie took advantage of the distraction to walk away. She said something as she left, but I couldn’t hear what it was.
Maybe that was for the best.
* * *
I seriously considered ignoring Uncle Nestor’s call, but my uncle is a persistent man. The longer I avoided talking to him, the more he’d call. I knew this from experience.
Swallowing my frustration with Edie, I answered with a chipper, “Hey, tío! What’s up?”
“I have great news, mija,” Uncle Nestor boomed. He sounded happy. That was good. “Ramon’s been looking for flights to get you home for Christmas. He found a great deal this morning.”
That was my family for you. To them I’d always be a little girl, incapable of looking out for myself. I went for a cautiously optimistic tone. Not so excited that Uncle Nestor thought he could continue doing this. Not so off-putting that he’d take offense. It’s a fine line.
“Oh. Well. That’s great. I hope it will work with my schedule.” Maybe I should have mentioned that my schedule was up in the air, but until I locked in the Vintage Clothing Society contract, nothing was certain. Why waste energy arguing over something that might not happen?
Uncle Nestor rattled off a few details, but I didn’t even try to retain them. Once I knew whether or not I’d be up to my eyeballs in work during December, I’d know whether or not I could get away for Christmas. Either way, I wouldn’t be able to help Miss Frankie with her Christmas plans, but I saw no reason to drag out the unpleasantness. I’d just handle it all at once, like ripping off a Band-Aid. Besides, Miss Frankie was in Baie Rebelle for the foreseeable future, and I didn’t know when I’d get a chance to talk to her privately. This wasn’t the kind of news I wanted to give her over the phone.
“Have Ramon e-mail the details to me,” I suggested. “I’ll check out the flight as soon as I can.”
“No need for that,” Uncle Nestor said. “I’ve looked at it myself and it’s perfect. You’ll fly out of New Orleans the Monday before Christmas and go back a week later. There were only three seats left this morning. You can’t wait when you find such a deal.”
A car missing its muffler drove past, making it impossible to hear or be heard. I waited until the noise died away and said, “I understand the ticket is a good deal, but I can’t do anything about it right now. I’m not at my desk and I don’t have my calendar in front of me. I’ll need to look at the staff’s vacation schedule so I can make sure there’s someone available to cover while I’m gone. I promise I’ll check it out as soon as I have a few minutes to spare.”
Uncle Nestor put his hand over the phone and shouted at someone in Spanish. When he came back, his voice was much softer. That’s not necessarily a good sign. “You’re not trying to get out of coming home, are you?”
“No! I can’t wait to see all of you.”
“Because I warn you, mija, if you don’t make it home this year, your aunt will be very disappointed.”
“She’s not the only one,” I assured him. I came up behind a mother with two toddlers in a stroller, both holding black cat balloons. I had to slow down until I could get around them.
“She’s planning to make all your favorite dishes,” Uncle Nestor bargained. “There will be chilies Rellenos and the queso blanco you like so much. And flan. She’s already working on the menu.”
I finally got around the stroller and balloons, only to get stopped at a corner by a traffic light. My mouth watered just thinking about my aunt’s cooking. And let’s not even get started on the dishes Uncle Nestor made every year. “That’s not fair,” I protested. “You know Aunt Yolanda always starts working on Christmas early. It’s her thing.”
“Maybe, but she’s very excited this year. It’s all she can talk about.”
Gee thanks, Uncle Nestor. No pressure there. The light changed and I trotted to the other side of the road. “Okay. Okay. I promise to look at the information before the end of the day. Will that make you happy? Just tell Ramon to send it to me. He has my e-mail address. Now stop trying to make me feel guilty. I thought we were on the same side.”
Uncle Nestor laughed and switched subjects. “Have you talked to Manuel lately?”
Manny was the third of my four cousins, all of whom were as close to me as brothers. Over the years, each of us has disappointed my aunt and uncle in some way. Manny’s claim to infamy had been his decision to leave Uncle Nestor’s restaurant and devote his life to music instead.
Uncle Nestor had been livid about Manny’s choice for a long time. Aunt Yolanda spent the first five years assuring him that Manny would eventually come to his senses, but it had been ten years, and they were still waiting. Manny had been making the rounds of bars, and women, ever since.
“I haven’t talked to him,” I admitted. “Should I?”
“He’s seeing someone,” Uncle Nestor said.
“Is he okay?” I asked tentatively, uncertain about why we’d suddenly bounced from Christmas to Manny’s female companion of the week.
“He’s fine,” Uncle Nestor assured me. “They’ve been together awhile.”
Still confused. “Define awhile.”
“Six months. She’s special, this one.”
My gasp of surprise was completely genuine. This was huge! “Who’s the woman? Where did he meet her? Have you and tía met her?”
“Yes, we have, and we approve.”
Oh. My. Gosh! Uncle Nestor approving of something Manny did? Had the world come to an end?
“Manny told us last week that he wants to propose at Christmas.”
“No! Are you serious? How did this girl ever pin him down?”
“I can’t say more. I’m sworn to secrecy. But I can tell you that he wants you to be there when he pops the question.”
Ah! Everything clicked into place. So that’s what this was about. “You mean the others don’t know? Santos? Aaron? Julio?”
Uncle Nestor laughed softly. I was hooked and he knew it. “They don’t know a thing. Yolanda and I are the only two he’s told. And now you
know. You cannot breathe a word, mija.”
“No. I won’t. But—”
“Not a single word. But now you understand why Christmas is so important to your tía.”
“I get it, but—”
“She wants to make a good impression on the young lady’s family.”
“She doesn’t need to worry about that,” I said. “Aunt Yolanda is amazing.”
“Of course she is, but this is important to her. You understand.”
“I do.” Oh boy, did I! I knew how worried Aunt Yolanda’d been about Manny. I could only imagine how thrilled she was that he’d decided to settle down. “I really want to be there,” I said. “I’ll make reservations, I promise. Just as soon as I have my schedule nailed down.”
“Well, I’ve saved the best for last, mija. I already booked the flight for you. It’s my gift. Ramon will send the ticket in your e-mail.”
“You booked the flight?” My voice came out louder than I’d intended, and several people turned to look at me. I gave a little oops grimace and lowered it again. “Uncle Nestor—”
“It was a great deal. I couldn’t pass it up. And you said you were coming home for the holidays.”
“Yes, I did,” I said with a sigh. “But I don’t know exactly when I can get away and how long I can stay.” Or if I could get away at all. “You should have checked with me before you spent all that money.”
“Aren’t you the boss at that place? Make it happen, Rita. Put your foot down.” This from the man who’d taken maybe two vacations my entire life—and one of them had been ordered by his doctor.
I knew this was partially my fault. I should have told him about the Belle Lune Ball and the possibility that I might not make it home at all, but that would have just opened another can of worms. “Yeah. I’m the boss. But please, tío, get your money back. I’ll book my own flight.”
“Don’t be so stubborn. I’m trying to do something nice for you. And I can’t get the money back. The ticket is nonrefundable.”
Rebel Without a Cake Page 14
